Clarke Griffin, MD
by ElegantlyxDisastrous
Summary: Clarke Griffin is one of the most highly respected and trusted doctors at Polis General. However, her position causes her to make sacrifices and meet the expectations of those around her. What happens if the stress becomes too much to handle? What happens when the circumstances of one patient turns her world upside down? Multiple pairings. Rated M for future content.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys, welcome back, and thank you in advance for checking out my fic. For any of you who may also be reading my other story, Slay Your Demons, you'll get an update soon. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully? **

**Here's a few things you should know: **

**-I'm not a doctor, don't plan to be, so some of the medical facts and what not may be a little off. **

**-I try my hardest to keep the character's personalities so if I'm doing a good job, half-ass decent job, or if I'm failing miserably – let me know. Its important to me. **

**-I watch a ton of medical shows – House, M.D, Emily Owens, M.D, HawthoRNe, E.R, and a crap ton more so a lot of my prompts, knowledge, interactions are inspired by these shows. **

**-I do not, nor will I ever, own the 100. **

Summary: Clarke Griffin is one of the most highly respected and trusted doctors at Polis General. This position requires her to make sacrifices and meet the expectations of those around her. What happens if the stress of the job becomes too much? Will someone save her or will she break?

Rating: M, for future content.

Pairings: Clarke/Bellamy, slight Clarke/Finn, Raven/Wick, Lincoln/Octavia, Jasper/Maya

Beta: None

Chapter 1

The beginning of her day started like any other: she woke up late, missed breakfast – again, for the fourth time this week, drove entirely too fast to the hospital, and clocked in just before she would have been considered late. The second she stepped through the doors of Polis General, the chaos began. Overly tired nurses in blue and purple scrubs shuffled around from door to door, trying to check patient's blood pressure and vital signs while doctors with silver hair in blood stained white coats glanced over charts and made split second decisions that could possibly alter someone's life. The coffee in the break room was always too weak and tasted like water while the pastries were stale enough to chip a tooth. Mothers, loved ones, and children occupied the waiting rooms – steaming in their own atmosphere of anxiety and stress while they waited to receive news. Doors opened and closed constantly and secretaries with bright red nail polish batted their overly curved eyelashes at doctors and secretly hopped they'd score a night with the person who has a god complex. Squeaky shoes and the clank of high heels echoed off the plain hospital walls and down the hall as people went in and out of rooms. The chaos, the constant struggle to determine between reality and medicine, and the probability that someone was going to take their last breath – today – caused the adrenaline in her veins to flow like a river. This was her world.

She pushed her way through the crowd of people that centered around the main entrance of the hospital until she managed to find an elevator. Once inside the tiny square space, she punched the button with the "G" and tried not to notice the old man wore too much cologne and the woman talking on her cellphone behind her would soon lose service. She finally reached the ground floor and she escaped from the confined space, bolting like lightning and making a beeline for the brown door containing a red label that reads: "AUTHORIZED PERSONEL ONLY". Once the door closed behind her, she was embraced by the scent of sterile floor cleaner and a faint hint of shoe odor. Still, the vomit green lockers greeted her with a smile and she would be able to find solace in the small room before her shift began. She checked the watch on her wrist. She had fifteen minutes left before she would have to report to the chief. She maneuvered her way through the locker room until she stopped in front of locker 216. She twisted and turned the lock until she heard a snap and the locker opened.

She peeled off her coat and removed her shirt and sweat pants, revealing her green scrubs from underneath. The trick to being late but managing to spare fifteen minutes before her shift was dressing in layers. Not having to change into appropriate attire saved her at least ten minutes and the red light she basically ran through on her way gave her five minutes to spare. There's a sick sense of irony in putting her life in danger in order to be on time for a job that required her to save lives. She pulled out her white coat and name tag that read "Clarke Griffin, M.D" and threw her other clothes into the locker. She grabbed her pager, placing it on the loop of her scrubs, and pulled her hair back, fastening her long blond locks with the black hairband that she constantly wears on her arm.

Her mind was beginning to wander into familiar but unwanted territory. Before her shift began she knew she had four patients off the top of her head to check on, plus new patients that would surely be admitted today, and a mandatory meeting with the hospital Administrator and CEO. She also had to urge the nurses in oncology to complete the liver biopsy report that she technically needed yesterday. The nurses could be a real pain in the ass which meant she'd have to sweet talk her way into rushing the results. She sighed as she closed her locker and rested her head against the cool metal. She closed her eyes and almost begged sleep to consume her. Sleep hasn't been much of a friend to her lately and if it does come, it doesn't stay very long. Her hair is always a mess, dark circles have began to form around her eyes, and her intake of caffeine has became more frequently needed. If her condition had a relevant medical name, it could be called "Seriously Overworked-osis" and she'd needs meds strong enough to put her on cloud nine.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise that sliced through the locker room silence like a meat cleaver. The intruding noise startled her, causing her heart to pound against her ribcage and her hope of having a relaxing moment to herself before her shift was shattered into pieces.

"Shit!"

A series of other sounds followed the obvious feminine voice and Clarke's curiosity was officially sparked.. and peeved. She navigated the rows of lockers, looking down each aisle and finding nothing until she reached the last row. In the back of the room she saw a woman stepping off a ladder while glass was spread across the tile, shimmering in the light. As if the swearing wasn't indication enough the woman was obviously frustrated, the sight of shattered glass and the stomping of combat boots on steel as she climb down the ladder was enough for Clarke to investigate. She hurriedly jogged down the aisle and as she approached, she realized who the woman was.

"Raven?" Clarke asked, stopping just outside the range of the shattered glass. She automatically looked up at the light fixture to see if the light bulb had broken which would mean they both would immediately need to get their blood cleaned. She saw both were in place but the light was missing the piece that protected the bulbs. _Oh_.

The girl looked up, startled, and paused for a moment to stare at Clarke like she was deer in headlights. It took only a second for the girl to recover and her alarmed expression quickly turned into a scowl.

"Oh, hey," Raven said as she stepped off the ladder and bent down to grab a tool from the tool belt that was spread across the floor.

"Are you okay?" Clarke asked, looking around at the shattered glass on the floor. If she was hurt, at least she was in a hospital.

"If by "okay" you mean not completely pissed off at the fact there's broilers that need to be fixed yet I'm stuck here replacing a damn light – yep. I'm totally fine," Raven huffed, snatching a tool from her belt and re-climbing the ladder like Mount Everest. The outburst caused Clarke to slightly chuckle.

"Not a fan of lights?" Clarke asked, amused.

"Not a fan of being jerked around by maintenance," Raven instantly retorted, her attention now focused on the light above her.

The sound of Clarke's beeping pager caused her attention to drift from Raven. The second she read the words on the screen, instant dread creeped into her continence.

_The chief_.

_Great_.

As Clarke left the locker rooms and steered herself to the elevators, she wondered if the meeting scheduled for today had been moved to now. She pressed the "up" button and waited for the elevator. Why else would the administrator be paging her this early? The clock on her watch was barely passed the number six and she hasn't had her coffee yet which is almost as important as an I.V drip. If she could have it her way, coffee _would_ be in the form of an I.V. The elevator dinged and the double doors opened to reveal a herd of nurses and other doctors. A few stepped out while others waited impatiently for their floor. Clarke stepped inside, punched the number "5" on the panel, and waited. Soon the double doors closed and the elevator was in motion.

She reached level five, exited the elevator, and pushed through the wall of people and nurses that were scurrying around from patient's rooms to labs and desks. Somewhere on the wing the sound of a child's bitter cry pierced the ears of everyone within range and a mother's cooing failed to ease the child's suffering. Already, Clarke knew she was entering the shark's pit and she wondered how long it would take for her bones to be chewed on like bubble gum before she was spit out or swallowed. Still, as she approached the double doors that led to the administrative office, she squared her shoulders and straightened her back. Her job, her talent, is to use medicine in order to save lives and return sick people back to health. Making an uneducated guess on a symptom in order to determine a direct cause is what makes her feel alive. The moment she walks into a patients room after placing them on appropriate medication and watches them play cards with a granddaughter or laugh with a mother, whereas they previously could barely move due to complicated health, justifies the ridiculous amount of crap she has to tolerate on a daily basis. Her job may be stressful but that was the price she'd pay to the Pied Piper if that meant restoring order and hope to someone's life. She pushed through the double doors and deeply inhaled as her feet glided to the door with the letters "Administrative Office" painted across the middle. Her hand reached the door knob, and she exhaled and dove straight into the shark pit.

Thelonius Jaha, president of Polis General, was standing just in front of his desk shaking hands with another man who was dressed in an overly expensive business suit, offering the man one of his generic smiles. Clarke instantly wondered how massive the check is in order to be given such an extended smile. The man looked up and caught Clarke's eye and she watched as his business persona instantly leaped into action.

"Dr. Griffin, come in", he said, motioning to the far side of his office.

"I'll be in touch," the man in the business suit said, glancing at Clarke, returning the same pseudo reassuring smile to Jaha.

"I would certainly hope so," Jaha returned, motioning him out of the office.

Jaha closed the door and turned on his heel, his eyes instantly finding Clarke's. Instantly, she wondered what sort of bullshit propaganda or disposition he was going to pitch this early in the morning. Her attitude is far from being in the right place but he signs her paychecks and usually listens to her hospital issues – if they meet his standards of importance. Four months ago, a woman claimed one of the male nurses on her staff inappropriately touched her while he was drawing blood for cultures and threatened to sue the hospital for sexual harassment. Of course, Jaha had to follow hospital protocol and interview the entire staff – including her. When Clarke argued against the woman's accusations and assured her nurse would have never behaved in such an atrocious manner, Jaha believed her and continued an investigation. As it turns out, the woman was psychotic and eventually had to be transferred to the mental ward. Regardless of the outcome, Jaha trusted her instincts and that means something. Granted, he's always trying to pitch some new idea to her about how he can "turn Polis General" around and most of the time the ideas sound entirely too stupid for comfort but she still gives him credit for trying. Clarke tries to delude herself into thinking Jaha respects her as a doctor and a valuable asset to the hospital but reality knows, and so do the gossiping nurses, he listens to her because of her connection to the associate administrator, the COO of the hospital.

"Coffee?" Jaha offers as he crosses his office.

_Hell yes_.

"Please," she offers instead. She knew the coffee would be cold and more than likely a day old considering Jaha doesn't really drink coffee but merely uses it as a tool to make others feel more comfortable. This psychological trick inevitably causes someone to let their guard down so he can jump in and take a bite out of their asses. Clarke wondered if that exact scenario was about to happen to her. Luckily for her, she's been introduced and seen damn near every trick in the book which means her guard wasn't going to be compromised by a weak cup of coffee. He handed her the coffee in a blue mug and her guess was right – cold as ice. "Thank you," she says anyway. The second the liquid hits her lips she had to suppress the urge to spit it back in the mug. _Would it kill for someone to make a decent pot of coffee_? The tension in the air slid its hands around her throat and began to squeeze. Jaha cleared his throat as he took a seat in his overly large, leather, brown, extremely expensive, office chair.

"Dr. Griffin, you're a highly respected and valuable member of this hospital-" _Geeze, Jaha, think you could buy me dinner, first? _"-the nurses respect you-" _because I don't treat them like idiots _ "-You've never had a complaint and you have shown excellent leadership skills-"

"President Jaha, no disrespect, but what's this about?" Clarke finally asked. She couldn't take the build up and if he showered her with one more compliment, she was going to vomit on his neatly organized mahogany wood desk. He leaned back in his chair as he gave her a stern look.

"An inmate at Polis Heights is being transferred to our facility due to a reoccurring medical condition. A serious one. The clinic at the prison isn't technologically equipped to handle what's wrong with him," Jaha spoke, his tone almost as serious as his face. "Its hospital policy and we're obligated to return him back to health." Clarke's instincts began to stir and she gave him a questionable stare.

"So whats wrong with him?" She asked.

Jaha sighed. "We don't know."

_The punch-line, ladies and gentlemen._

"You want me to find out," Clarke instigated. She received a nod from Jaha.

Something wasn't adding up. She's dealt with inmates before and she knows the protocol, so why was Jaha making such a big deal out of this?

"He's a dangerous man, Clarke. I'm not at liberty to discuss his charges but trust me when I say we have to proceed with caution. We can't admit him on regular hospital protocols. Its mandatory I admit him on the securest level of this hospital.." he said.

"Level six," Clarke answered. Suddenly, her heart was beginning to beat faster than normal and she knew it wasn't from the caffeine. 

"Yes." Jaha didn't hesitate. "Are you prepared to handle this? You'll be the overseeing doctor which means you'll be working closely with the patient. Of course, a guard will be posted outside his room at all times and-"

"I'm required to only be in the room if someone else is there. Never alone," she said. "I know the protocol."

"Good. I'll ask again, are you prepared to handle this?" He asked, giving her a serious but apologetic look.

"Yes," Clarke responded. How could she say no?

**Who will the inmate be? **

**What character(s) will be introduced next? **

**Will Clarke ever find a decent cup of coffee? **

**Find out in chapter 2! **

**Review? **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to everyone that is following this story. **

**My muse is bouncing off the walls with this one so I'm hoping it'll grab your attention. **

**Here's what you should know: **

**-I've tweaked Clarke and Abby's personality a little bit in order for the story to flow. Hopefully I didn't cause too much damage but if you think I'm off track, failing miserably, or doing a decent job, I'd like to know. Its important. **

**And that's all, folks. **

**Chapter 2. **

**Enjoy. **

Chapter 2

Clarke wondered if the experience and challenges of her career has led up to this exact moment: the moment she voluntarily places herself in danger in order to diagnose someone who is considered to be extremely dangerous. She's had to diagnose and treat other inmates before which means she's familiar with the situation. However, in her seven years of being a doctor for this hospital, never has Jaha gave her such an alarming warning. The hesitation in the man's voice when he asked her to be the inmate's doctor almost made her rethink her answer but she took an oath to heal the sick and that oath isn't limited to people who are incarcerated. However, the seriousness of the situation isn't a direct result of treating an inmate – its a result of _where _she has to treat an inmate.

Level six of Polis General isn't a pleasant place of practice medicine, as anyone with half a brain could assume. Its the most secure, observed, and strict wing of the hospital that normal doctors on the other levels wouldn't ever dream of stepping foot in unless they were bribed or paid a very pretty penny. The only other level of the hospital that's almost as intimidating as level six is level seven – the psychiatric ward. The difference between the levels is the simple concept that those who are in the psychiatric ward are capable of being diagnosed and treated while around other patients. They're allowed, under careful supervision, to draw, play music, socially interact, make phone calls, and are allowed visitors that do not have to be searched down to the very T before they're allowed to see their relatives and friends. Level six of Polis General is the complete opposite. The patients in level six are considered to be dangers to themselves.. and to others. They're not allowed any type of utensil that could be transformed into a weapon. The bathrooms on level six aren't even allowed to have toilet paper roll holders because hospital security can't risk a patient using it as a tool to kill someone – or themselves. Contrary to the popular assumption level six is only for inmates, many patients on this wing are mainly people brought in off the streets that must be diagnosed under strict protocols and serious observation. A patient that is diagnosed with manic depression is sent to the psychiatric ward for observation and treatment as long as they're not a threat to themselves or others. The psychiatric ward even houses those diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder as long as they are determined to be non-violent. Yes, non-violent sociopaths and psychopaths do exist. However, the ones who are considered violent and dangerous are housed in level six. This is the reason many doctors of the hospital refuse to treat patients located in this wing. The doctors that do treat these patients are usually the type who have served as medical assistants in the armed forces.

"Thank you, Clarke," Jaha says. She can actually hear the gratefulness in his voice which puts her nerves on edge more than the fact she'll be treating a dangerous criminal. "Anything you need, you name it."

"Decent coffee in the break room and cafeteria," Clarke immediately answered without hesitation. Jaha must have thought she was joking because he started to laugh as he stood up. "I'm serious," she says as she also stands up. Her voice must have sounded overly serious since Jaha abruptly stopped chuckling and stared at her.

"Coffee? That's your request?" He asked.

Clarke's patience was beginning to thin by the second and she had to refrain from raising her voice. It wasn't even eight o'clock yet and already she was tired, stressed, and she didn't have the happiest attitude at the moment considering her high levels of irritability thanks to the insomnia that has plagued her for the past few months.

What the hell else was she going to ask for? A day off for Christmas when that happens to be one of the busiest time of the year? A paid vacation where she sits around her in apartment eating chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and watches old re-runs? An increased supply of morphine for the obvious junkies that are hiding as nurses? A raise? She just wants a decent cup of coffee before she explodes. Maybe even an anti-anxiety narcotic.

"Yes," she answers instead of spilling every thought that just tap danced through her mind. Jaha nodded as he walked around his desk, stopping just in front of Clarke, and reached out his hand.

"Deal," he said. The lack of an amused smile on his face caused Clarke's temper to retract into whatever emotional hole it had emerged from and she began to relax.

The moment Clarke returned the gesture, there was a knock on the door. Both of them looked up and Clarke almost jumped behind Jaha's desk and hid. She couldn't take anymore stupidity from those who were suppose to be leaders of the hospital. That brief moment of relaxation and understanding instantly got up, hit the ceiling fan, fell out of the five story window, and got hit by a truck as she watched the vain of her career enter the room.

"Abby," Jaha greeted.

Yes, Abby Griffin. The COO, associate administrator, and mother to Clarke Griffin. At that moment, Clarke had no idea who she pissed off in her past life but she made a note to write a formal apology and ship it first class.

"Thelonius," Abby purred as she glided her way into his office. If the devil was a woman and could be dressed in a low-cut black ruffled shirt and a white skirt that exposes too much thigh flesh while the click of her heels across the floor was to the tune of the Jaw's theme song – she would be named Abby Griffin. Maybe that's a bit extreme but Clarke still hasn't had her unhealthy, but very much needed, intake of caffeine and her mind was running around in a cage like a crazed animal that needed to be shot in the neck by a tranquilizer. Realistically, her mom wasn't that bad unless you stood in the way of what she wanted; then she was a psychopath holding an AK-47 directly between your eyes and would pull the trigger if provoked.. while smiling.

"Clarke," she – once again – purred as she flashed them both a warm smile that disguised the razor sharp teeth she knew her mother had. Clarke absently wondered whose blood she has already shed so early in the morning. Abby Griffin didn't need coffee to jump start her day – she just needed someone's soul to steal and eat with her morning pancakes. Her mother wrapped her arms around her, forcing her into a hug, and the woman's breasts was awkwardly pressed against her. Still, she returned the hug to the best to her ability and relaxed when her mother turned to hug the president.

"Always a pleasure," Jaha said and Clarke had to fight back the urge to snort and ask him what kind of purple, mood altering, reality twisting pill he was taking. "What brings you to my office this early?" He added and Clarke instantly translated his words into 'what the hell are you doing here you poisonous bitch?' Abby turned to Clarke. _Oh shit, did I say that out loud_?

"Clarke, actually," she said and Clarke's instincts instantly picked up on the tone of her voice.

"I see," Jaha responded, moving back around behind his desk. "We were just discussing the terms of our arrangement," he said. His eyes veered away from Abby's and his guilty look caused Clarke to sense there was a secret lingering over them. She looked back at her mother whose piercing gaze was focused directly on Jaha, and her hands were posted on her hips. _Is that a throbbing vein on her forehead_?

"We discussed this, Jaha. I specifically asked you-"

"-to speak with Clarke before making a final decision. And I have," Jaha interrupted. "She has agreed to handle our new patient. She knows the protocol," he said. _Did Jaha just one-up my mother_? _Impressive_. The look on Abby's face told Clarke the woman was anything but happy.

"Clarke, sweetheart, you don't have to-"

"Its okay, mom," the word left an acidic taste in her mouth. "I don't mind. Besides, there isn't any other doctor on call that's prepared to handle the situation," she said.

"I know you take being a doctor very seriously but treating a man like this-" Clarke's frustration was growing by the second.

"Is just part of the job description. I've treated patients like this before and I did fine. Its nothing I can't handle." Clarke suddenly wondered who she was trying to convince more: her mom.. or herself.

The sound of the phone ringing broke through the barrier that was beginning to form between them and Clarke purposefully turned her attention to the phone. Jaha answered almost immediately. She could see his desire to relieve the room of the built up stress a mile away.

"Yes... yes... Alright. I'll send her up," Jaha said into the piece of plastic and Clarke knew it was showtime. He hung up the phone and turned his attention to Clarke.

"Your patient is here. When you get to level six, find Officer Blake. He'll give you further instructions that will ensure your safety. Then find Dr. Thomas – he'll give you the patient's chart. Do you have any questions?"

_When can I take a nap?_

"No," Clarke answered and she could feel the steam from her mother roll off her in waves.

She said goodbye to Jaha and her mother and left the office faster than when she entered. She found the elevator and swallowed as she stepped in. An older woman in green scrubs holding a container full of medical supplies waited patiently next to a male janitor that was pushing a janitorial cart. She offered them both a friendly smile and then her eyes found the elevator panel. She lifted her hand, swallowed hard for the second time, and punched the number 6. The male janitor cleared his throat and Clarke could see them both look at her out the corner of her eye. She felt her blood pressure rise as her heart slammed against her ribcage, urging her to reconsider her decision. The doors to the elevator closed and she stood up straight and looked directly in front of her, imagining she was in a magical box that is going to take her to a wonderful land of... something. The muscle in her shoulder started to ache and she refrained from slamming her head against the elevator walls.

_Mondays are always a bitch_.

**The build up is slow but I promise you, it'll get there. **

**How will Clarke respond to level six? **

**Who will be the inmate? **

**Which Blake sibling will be the officer? **

**Find out in chapter 3! **

**Review? **


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Clarke watched the red number five in the elevator change to six and licked her lips partly due to anxiety and partly due to the fact they're dry and slightly cracked. This will be the first time she has ever set foot on level six and the uncertainty of what is about to happen finally forced her to realize the gravity of the situation. Although she has never before treated someone who was required to be on level six, she has heard many horror stories from those who have. Stories about patients hiding behind the door to their room holding a sheet and waiting to strangle whoever had the bad luck of walking in next; a patient who was lashing out after stealing a pen, trying to shove the pointy end into someone's stomach; tales about how extremely manipulative and conniving the patients are who once made a doctor try to commit suicide; and that's only the beginning.

Of course, Clarke didn't know if any of the rumors she has heard hold any amount of truth but the intensity of this particular part of the hospital is enough to make anyone fearful. She has even heard colleagues talk about a petition that once circulated the facility, protesting to completely shut down this part of the hospital. Word in the E.R is the petition failed because many facilities where these people are transferred from pay a good amount of money to house them. Its like in grade school when teachers use to pass on a troubled child just to get them out of their class. Today, Clarke would experience level six on a first hand basis and the fact she is about to walk into the unknown is enough to make her body tremble ever so slightly.

When the doors to the elevator opened and Clarke took a deep breath before she stepped out into the hall. She glanced behind her to watch as the old woman repeatedly pushed a button on the elevator panel. She exhaled and straightened her demeanor. She couldn't show any signs of weakness, especially in front of the inmate. Luckily for her, she isn't weak. The elevator doors closed and the sound caused Clarke to feel like she was trapped. She reminded herself of the oath she took when she was in medical school and that she had a job to do; regardless of circumstance.

The foundation to level six wasn't helping her anxiety at all. The hallway was dimly lit and the tile was covered with a small layer of dirt. When was the last time a janitor cleaned this place up? She squinted her eyes and saw two large metal doors at the end of the hall. That must be the entrance. Her stomach was beginning to twist but she pushed her shoulders back and started down the hall. She always found overly exaggerated hospitals on horror movies to be absurd, but as she looks down the hallway, the only sound is the bottom of her sneakers pressing against tile, her attitude changed. She felt like a herd of zombies or chainsaw revving psychopaths was going to bust through the metal doors any minute. She walked the hall anyway, anticipating what she would find on the other side of the doors. As she approached, she saw two men in uniforms standing outside the door who wore hats with the word "security" on the front. How bad is this place for two security guards to have to take post outside the level? The moment she entered into their sights, Clarke watched as their body language tensed. She instantly reached into her pocket and pulled out her hospital clearance card that contained her I.D and stopped just a few feet in front of the guards.

"I.D," one of the guards demanded. His tone of voice was anything but friendly. If she had to stand outside two doors all day, Clarke would probably be stern too. She handed the guard her card and they both inspected it before they turned and slid it through the security lock that was right by the door. The red light on the lock turned green and the double doors unlocked. Clarke offered a friendly smile to them both but they looked right past her without a second glance.

On the other side of the double door is another room.. if one could call it that. The windows are completely blackened and Clarke couldn't see what is beyond this room. Another security guard patrolled the room and looked directly at her – as did other people in the room – like they expected her to be an ax murderer. It was like walking into a classroom late when everyone looks up and stares at you. She's use to pressure, but this kind of pressure was making her uneasy. She stopped and glanced around the room. To the left is what appears to be a glass cage. A wall that basically separates the people inside the glass office from the rest of the room. Behind the glass slide-open window sat a young male with shaggy brown hair and tired chocolate eyes that found her blue hues the second she walked through the door. She didn't know the exact procedure to follow as far as checking in and how Level Six functioned but she had to start somewhere. She walked up to the sliding glass window and he opened the window.

"New?" He asked.

"That obvious?" She asked, taking a second glance around the room.

"A little bit. Usually new doctors are more nervous than curious," he replied. She turned her attention back to him and saw his exhausted eyes now held a small gleam. "Its refreshing." Considering how deadpan and indifferent the security guard's expressions were, she could only imagine how bland this floor of the hospital is. No one smiled and Clarke has noticed more fear in everyone's eyes than anything else. It makes her wonder how intimidating working on this level actually is.

He pushed a plastic tub through the window and handed her a clipboard. "That bad, huh?" She asked, looking down at the clipboard and seeing the name's of doctors and nurses that have checked in and checked out. She signed her name, noted the time, and the date before handing it back to him. She then began placing lose items into the tub – name tag, pens, pencils, her spare ponytail holder, watch, pager, ect, - as per protocol. He scoffed and the response caught her attention.

"Everyone thinks its the patients that make this level horrifying. Its the complete opposite," he said, taking the tub. He reached into the drawer of the desk and pulled out a sheet of stick on labels and a black sharpie. His words caused her eyebrows of furrow.

"What do you mean?" She asked, curiously. Normally she's all work and tries to keep the chit chat to a minimum but his words surprised her. She watched as his eyes carefully darted around the room before he leaned in.

"Its not the patients you have to look out for," he said in a low voice. "Its the doctors and the nurses." He leaned back in his chair and opened the cap to the marker.

"Name?" He asked, his voice returning to its casual tone. The words caused her to look at him curiously but she could tell he wasn't going to explain any farther.

"Clarke Griffin," she replied. At the sound of her name, she watched as his eyes suddenly widened.

"You're Clarke Griffin?" He asked, surprised.

"Yes," she replied. She watched the corner of his mouth curl an inch or two before he looked down and wrote her name on the white label.

"I've heard of you," he said as he peeled off the label and stuck it to the front of the tub that held her items. "I use to work in Oncology," he added as he wrote her name on a second label, peeled it off, and handed it to her.

"How did you end up here?" She asked as she took the label and stuck it to her shirt.

"Abby Griffin," he replied.

The name caused the color in her face to drain and her eyes widened. The adrenaline began to flow as her heart rate increased and she felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. He chuckled.

"At first it was a temporary reassignment because I had three strikes against me in Oncology and this level was understaffed so Abby placed me here until a spot opened. But when I got here, I saw what actually happens and I decided to stay. Something needs to be done," he said in a low voice.

"What do you mean?" Clarke asked.

"You'll see," he replied, his tone slightly sympathetic. He turned to the computer that sat to the left on his desk and began clicking and typing. Clarke stood in front of the window and shifted on her feet. The way he spoke of the level caused Clarke to become more inquisitive about what was in store for her in regards to treating the patient. Something in her gut began to twist and while she couldn't accurately identify the feeling, her senses were beginning to instinctively become more alert. She impatiently waited as he typed on the computer. He then picked up the black phone and punched a series of numbers and waited.

"Dr. Griffin is here," he said. "...Alright." And just as soon as he picked the phone up, he was putting it back down. He turned his attention back to her.

"The level's head doctor and director will meet you here," he said. "He'll tell you where to go."

"Thank you," she said. "Whats your name?"

"Finn," he softly smiled.

"Nice to meet you, Finn," Clarke said, offering him a polite smile and then turned around and began walking to the set of metal chairs that lined the wall.


	4. Chapter 4

**My apologies for the inconsistent updates. **

**The more followers and reviews I get, the more motivation there is to continue. **

**Anywho, enjoy. **

Chapter 4

Clarke anxiously waited for the level's head doctor to walk through the metal double doors. Her mind replayed the conversation she had with Finn and the more she dwelled, the more questions began to arise. She watched the people who entered and exited the room. She noticed how only a handful of nurses came through the room and that each one either had frown lines that were deeper than a philosophical debate or they looked like they were completely annoyed. She didn't know how many patients were currently admitted but she could already guess that the level was severely lacking in nurse, doctor, patient ratio. She didn't have to ask herself why because she already knew the answer to the question: no one wanted to work a shift on level six. She eyed the two security guards that were posted beside the door that leads into the main wing and noted how they looked dull, bored, and completely uninterested. She watched as one guard slowly sipped on a styrofoam cup and the thought of a steaming, hot, strong cup of coffee began to tease her.

The security system that is installed on the doors beeped, a red light turned to green, and the guards opened the door. Clarke watched as a semi-tall, dark haired, middle aged man wearing a white lab coat and a stethoscope around his neck emerged from behind the doors, who Clarke assumed was the head doctor, and politely stood. He opens a blue folder he's carrying and eyes the contents as he crosses the room.

"Dr. Griffin?" He asked with a gruff voice in a demanding tone while his eyes scan the folder.

"Yes," she answers. He briefly looks up from the blue folder to shake her hand.

"I'm Dr. Cage Wallace, the director of this floor. Follow me," he says as he turns on his heel.

As she begins to follow him, she pauses to glance at Finn through the glass window. He gives her a confident nod and she takes a deep breath and nods back. She wasn't sure what was about to happen or what's on the other side of this room but she was about to find out. Dr. Wallace slides a card through the security lock on the door, it beeps as it turns to green, and the guards open the doors. One of the guards holds up his hand in front of Clarke and she stops, looking at Cage.

"She's with me," he says nodding at him and the guard's hand drops back to his side. They push open the doors and level six is finally revealed.

The first thing Clarke notices is how ordinary and normal the floor looks. It's designed just like a regular floor with several short halls that are spread around the main desk. The second thing she notices is how there's more than one light that's out and the floor is covered in dirt and dust. The third thing she notices is how desolate and deserted the halls are whereas she's use to bumping elbows and pushing her way through crowds. She follows him as he turns a corner and sees maybe three or four nurses working at the main desk. Police officers fully equipped with handcuffs, mace, a baton, a hand gun, and a taser gun is posted in front of every room that houses a patient whose eyes seem fully alert and briefly inspects them as they pass.

The fourth thing Clarke notices is how Dr. Wallace struts and places each foot froward as if he walks with a purpose. Normally Clarke has to slow her own pace to accompany other doctors and if she wasn't a fast walker herself, she would have a problem keeping up. His dismissive demeanor and the fact he doesn't look over his shoulder to glance at her gives her the impression he usually works alone and isn't familiar with having another doctor on this level. He reminds her of an EMT or one of the doctors that work in the E.R – always in a rush, never slowing down, and jumping from one patient to the next. As she walks behind him trailing on his heels, she wonders if he once worked in the E.R.

"I'm assuming you're aware of the mandatory protocols that must be followed?" He asks as they enter a corridor. A loud scream echos from down the hall and Clarke watches as a team of police officers rush into the room. Clarke is watching the scene when Cage abruptly turns around and hands her the blue file. She forced herself to focus.

"Yes," she replies as she takes the folder. Cage doesn't waste a single moment and turns back around and begins walking the second her fingers touch the folder.

"Good. Your patient's name is John Murphy," he says as they turn another corner and Clarke opens the folder as they walk. "He was transferred from the Heights three hours ago. A prison guard found him face down seizing in a pool of his own blood."

"He's been here before," Clarke notes as she reads the file. "Two visits five years ago with stomach pains. The doctor on duty diagnosed him with IBS and prescribed him Bentyl.." she says as her voice trails off. Her eyebrows furrowed. "But he came back three months later presenting the same symptoms but there was blood in his stool. That pointed to Crohn's," she says. "But he didn't get a colonoscopy. One wasn't scheduled," she noted again.

"The prison infirmary told us that was his fourth episode," Cage said dismissively.

_The fourth? _She thought.

"No signs of trauma," Clarke noted. "What about the tox screen?" She asked.

"We didn't give him one," Cage replied and push through two double doors. Clarke looked up from the file. Now it was making sense. Prison. Drugs. Seizure.

She was about to say something when Cage suddenly stopped at a nurses station and turned around. He grabbed a card off the desk and handed it to her.

"That's your I.D to get into the wing. His room number is 623 B down the left. Officer Blake is his assigned officer and will be standing outside his room at all times. Keep your card concealed and do not, by any means, enter his room unless Blake or another nurse is present. Welcome to level six," Cage said and Clarke instantly picked up on his sarcasm. She watched as Cage grabbed another folder off the desk and walked past her in the opposite direction. She quickly turned around.

"That's it?" she asked, overly annoyed. She heard the man sigh as he turned around.

"He's here. He's getting treatment. Whatever treatment he needs is up to you to figure out since you were specifically assigned to his case," Cage said. "You're own your own," he added as he turned around and proceeded to walk down the hall. Clarke's annoyance with the man was rising by the second and she began to wonder if this situation is exactly what Finn was telling her about. She looked at the nurse sitting at the desk and watched her pick at her nails. As if the nurse sensed Clarke looking at her, she looked up and caught Clarke's eye. The nurse gave Clarke a look before she turned around in the office chair and went back to picking at her nails in peace. Clarke could feel the vein in her forehead begin to throb. She shook off the feeling and told herself she had a job to do.

As she walked down the hall labeled B, she noticed two lights that were flickering and on the verge of burning out. The hospital obviously wasn't concerned with the upkeep on this level. She pushed through another set of double doors and found herself counting three officers standing outside doors. She also noticed there was a serious lack of medical equipment that should be accessible in the halls and noticed only two nurses were walking up the hall. She followed the room numbers and finally saw a male officer stationed outside her patient's door.

He was dressed head to toe in Polis Heights officer attire except for the police hat she often sees them wearing outside the hospital. She made a note of his bored but completely alert expression and the closer she approached, his head turned and their eyes met. Her gut squeezed once again but she did her best to ignore the feeling and remain professional as she stepped closer. She stuck out her hand.

"I'm Dr. Griffin," she said.

His eyebrows rose and he gave her a once-over look before he shook her hand which was firm but noticeably quick.

"Officer Blake," he replied. "You're a female doctor," he added, his tone and facial expression both surprised and skeptical.

Clarke slightly narrowed her eyes and she couldn't figure out if that was a question or a statement, an insult or an observation. Regardless, it caused her annoyance to dramatically increase. She already decided she didn't like Officer Blake. She's had to deal with egotistical, sexist males before but in the back of her mind she wondered why she let that bother her.

"Are you the one who found him at the prison?" She asked, ignoring the heat that was rising in her chest.

His expression shifted from skeptical to uninterested in a second as he turned back around to lean against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His demeanor caused her emotions to shift from annoyed to completely irritated. Dr. Wallace's dismissive attitude was annoying enough but at least he was professional where as officer Blake appears to be an ass.

"I found him once," he answered. The vein in her forehead throbbed once again.

"And why wasn't he sent to the hospital then?" She asked, shifting the weight on her foot and crossing her own arms, the blue file still in her hand. Officer Blake turned his head and shot her an annoyed look. She returned his expression of annoyance with her own expression of irritation.

"Because the infirmary and prison director decided not to," he answered in a tone of voice that Clarke didn't appreciate. She didn't see any notes or diagnosis in the file from the prison infirmary which she knew would make her job more difficult considering they're the ones who had an up-close look at him before he was admitted.

"Who do I contact to get his prison medical files?" Clarke asked. She watched his eyes flicker.

"The prison, maybe?" He shot back and the sarcasm nearly caused Clarke to lose her focus. For the thousandth time today, she pushed down the urge to snap and decided she'd make the call after she saw the patient.

She turned to the patient's door and the second she placed her hand on the knob, Officer Blake pushed himself off the wall and turned to her.

"You shouldn't even care," he scoffed.

Clarke released the door knob and turned back around to stand directly in front of him. He is a few inches taller than she is but not tall enough to cause him to peer down at her like Dr. Wallace. His lips were tensed in a line and his eyes were passive.

"And why the hell not?" She asked, narrowing her eyes. "Who the hell are you to tell me who I should and shouldn't care about?" She added, demanding. Her temper was beginning to show and she no longer cared about keeping it under control. His eyes narrowed and he took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

"You don't know what he's done and why he's in prison in the first place," he said through his gritted teeth.

Clarke lifted up her chin and her body tensed.

"I don't care," she said, returning his attitude with her own. "I'm a doctor and my job is to diagnose and treat whatever condition he has."

"He's an inmate," Blake said.

"He's my patient," Clarke returned.

On that note, she turned around and opened the door. She was done with this back and forth game they were playing and she was done with the conversation. She had a patient to treat, not to discuss the morality of the treatment. She squared her shoulders as she entered the room and tried to calm herself before she spoke with the patient. Although she tried to remain professional as a doctor, as a person she couldn't help but wonder what this guy _had _done.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Clarke's heart pounded against her ribcage but she could feel her blood pressure beginning to slow after the heated incident she just experienced with the officer. Even the patient's room was dirty: dirt on the floor, she could smell a faint hint of rusty metals, and the room itself smelled like an old hotel room that hadn't been clean in years. This brought up the question of rather or not if her patient was laying on clean sheets. The thought caused her to internally shudder while simultaneously increasing the frustration she already had about the neglect she sees on the level. She wondered if Jaha or her mother knew about the heath hazards and lack of proper care and her gut told her they did, which made the situation worse. She made a mental note to talk with them both about what she's seen.

She saw her patient laying in the hospital bed and instantly she could see how sick he was. Just reviewing his chart told her something was severely wrong but once she laid eyes on his face, she saw the severity of his illness. His face was completely pale and considering the bone structure males have, she knew his cheekbones shouldn't be that visible. His hair is matted from sweat, his brown eyes were exhausted, and she could already tell by his fingers that his liver was working incredibly hard to function. The arm that didn't contain a drip was handcuffed to the bed railing which made a clinking noise when the patient moved. She understood the people on this level was dangerous but she asked herself if being handcuffed in a hospital was necessary. How was he suppose to go to the bathroom? He moved his head only slightly when he spotted her and she watched his weary eyes seize her from head to toe and his pained expression turned into a forced smirk.

"So you're my doctor," he scoffed. He looked past her to eye Officer Blake who had followed her inside his room. "And you're her big bad protector," he said. His voice was raspy and Clarke noticed he had trouble catching his breath. She ignored both comments as she approached but heard Officer Blake grunt from behind her.

"I'm Dr. Griffin," she said, approaching the pulse monitor and drip rack.

"So it says on your tag," he said.

She frowned when she checked his drip. Clear liquid was backed halfway up the tube, almost pouring back into the bag. If he's been admitted for nearly three hours and his drip hasn't been delivering liquid to his body, he was severely dehydrated which could be why his liver was failing. She gritted her teeth to keep from losing her focus. She followed the drip tube to the part that is suppose to administer the liquid and saw the tube that followed was dry. Her eyes caught her patient's.

"No one has been here, have they?" Clarke asked him. He snorted as he turned his head back to a frontal position to look away from her.

"No one except a bitch nurse who poked me with the needle six times," he barely said and Clarke saw the places on his arm that were swollen. _Six times? _She asked herself. "The drip stopped working as soon as she left," he added, his voice becoming more raspy by the second. "And it fucking hurts." She frowned again.

Clarke looked around for a box of gloves but didn't see any. Then she remembered its a protocol to keep them outside the room on a wall so they couldn't be accessed by patients. She resisted the urge to curse under her breath.

"I'll be right back," she told Murphy as she turned on her heel.

"Take your time," he said, coughing. "Its not like I'm dying or anything."

Clarke grabbed a pair of green gloves from the compartment outside the room and hurriedly walked back to her patient's bed as she stretched the latex over her hands.

"Let me see your arm," she said and Murphy gritted his teeth as he lifted his arm. She knew something was wrong and she was right. She inspected the IV and saw that not only was the area infected, but the nurse shoved the needle through a nerve, blowing the vein and causing phlebitis which is why the area of his skin is swollen.

Instantly, her doctor instincts began to take over and she had to hurry to administer him with a new drip and a new needle. She opened desk drawers and checked the medical cabinets and even the closet but couldn't find the materials needed to give him a new drip Her heart was pounding and she knew she is racing against the clock to keep her patient from dying of a damn drip. She grabbed the twist connect and unscrewed it from the bag and disconnected the drip chamber from the spike. She saw something was blocking the liquid from flowing in the chamber and really, she needed new tubing but had to get him hydrated, first.

"I need a pin," she mumbled mostly to herself, as she frantically looked around the room.

"Something wrong, doc?" Murphy asked humorously and weak.

"Not for long," Clarke mumbled back as she held the materials and her frantic eyes met with Officer Blake who looked overly alert. She spotted his name tag. **B. Blake **

"I need your name tag," she said to him.

He looked at her in disbelief. "Why?"

"NOW!" She urged and he huffed as he walked over to her, unfastening his name tag, and handed it to her. She took the pin end of the tag and stuck it inside the chamber. She moved it around until she heard a small click, removed the pin, and basically threw it back at **B. Blake**. She connected the tubes again, twisting the connector back onto the bag and held up the tubes. Officer Blake, Murphy, and her watched as the liquid slowly moved down the tube, to the chamber, and finally out the spike and into Murphy's arm. She sighed in relief even though her nerves were still going ninety to nothing because she still needed to reinsert the needle. She looked at her patient who was staring at his arm.

"I'm going to get a new drip for you and when I get back I'll reinsert your IV. It'll feel better, then," she said to her patient and turned around.

"Great," she heard him weakly gruff. "More needles."

The second she stepped out in the hall, she heard a loud repetitive beeping sound echoing off the hallway walls, coming from a patient's room. Panic and confusion swept over her as she realized there weren't any nurses or doctors rushing in and out of the room.

"Shit," she said to herself and began jogging in the direction of the noise.

She stopped in front of another officer who was standing outside the room. The fact his face was expressionless aside from a hint of annoyance caused her blood to boil. She kept looking in the direction of the nurses station but aside from the police officers, the hall was empty. She looked at the officer who raised his eyebrows, her panic increasing by the second.

"CODE BLUE," she screamed down the hall hoping someone would hear her and she turned to enter the room but the officer placed his arm in front of her.

"No one is allowed in there," he gruffly said. "Dr. Wallace's orders."

The vein in her forehead exploded.

"The person in that room is having a fucking heart attack!" she yelled. "Do you see Dr. Wallace anywhere?" she said, motioning around her. "You have your job, I have mine. Now get the hell out of my way before their death becomes YOUR problem!"

Clarke watched the officer consider her words and he turned his head to look down the hall and she took that opportunity to duck under his arm and enter the room.

"Hey!" She heard behind her but she ignored it as she ran to the patient's bedside. Clarke realized the patient is female and was choking. Clarke didn't hear the woman choking from the sound of the blood pressure monitor. She looked at the numbers, then at the patient's chest, and realized she wasn't having a heart attack – her lung was collapsing.

Quickly Clarke began going through every damn drawer in the room until luckily she found a syringe at the bottom of a medical cabinet. She peeled off the green gloves she used on Murphy and tore through the packaging. By then, two nurses and two officers came running into the room.

"I need fifteen milliliters of lorazepram, now!" she screamed over the rapid beeping.

The nurses rushed around the room and Clarke quickly ran to the woman's side. She watched as one of the nurses injected the medicine into the I.V and the second the medicine was administered, the second Clarke rose her arms above her head calculating the space between the woman's ribs, the syringe in her hands, and slammed down on the woman's chest with as much strength as she could muster. The needle slammed into the woman's chest with a hard thud and Clarke pulled back on the syringe slowly, watching as green and white liquid filled the syringe. She watched the monitor closely as she pulled, her heart slamming against her ribcage while adrenaline pumped into her blood, and a minute later the monitor began to ease and Clarke watched as the patient's blood pressure slowly began to return to normal. Beads of sweat dribbled down Clarke's face as she turned her attention back to the patient and watched as the woman slowly began to breathe. Clarke slowly and carefully removed the syringe and sighed in relief. Suddenly, she realized how exhausted she is.

"What the hell is going on in here?" She heard from the hall. Her, the nurses, and both officers (one of them being Officer Blake, why is he here?) looked back and saw a rabid Dr. Wallace enter the room. His frantic brown eyes found hers before looking at the patient and Clarke watched them widen before growing dark.

"Dr. Griffin," he growled. "Outside. Now." He turned around and stormed out of the room.

Clarke ignored his "now" and instead examined the patient. Her breathing was slowly returning to normal as she took long, even, breaths unlike Clarke who was still panting and breathing heavy while her adrenaline and heart tried to register the danger was over. She looked at the BP monitor and watched as the once frighteningly high numbers continue to decrease. She sighed in relief even though she knew she had an earful waiting for her. She turned around to see the two nurses gawking at her, the officer who wouldn't let her in looked at her disapprovingly, and Officer Blake just looked surprised. Finally, catching her breath, she stares down one of the nurses.

"Where are the IV and drips stored?" She asked.

"The medicine closet," the blond replied. "There's one at the end of every hall." Her wide eyes and blank stare was giving Clarke the creeps.

"Thank you," she replied anyway as she left the room.

Outside in the hall, Cage Wallace waited for her with his arms crossed and an expression that Clarke can only assume as pissed. She didn't care. Because at the moment, no one could be more pissed than she is.

"What do you think you're doing?" He barked. His voice is loud and Clarke can't tell if the volume is intentional or a reaction. She's known several doctors who has used intimidation as a scare tactic to make patients talk or make incompetent nurses work faster.

She crossed her arms and met his eyes. "I believe I was saving _your_ patient-" she threw back, her voice just as loud as his. If he wanted to make a scene, that was fine by her. She's wanted to throw a temper tantrum since she stepped foot on this floor. "-Who was dying because her lungs were collapsing of fluid intake." Is this seriously happening? Is he actually pissed because she saved her life?

"You were assigned one patient and one patient, only. The others are not your concern! This is your first time on level six. You have no idea how my level works-"

Now she understands why he's so pissed. To hell with the fact a person almost died because no one was around as she was collapsing. Its about territory. And Clarke just happened to piss on the same fire hydrant.

"Apparently things _don't_ work on _your_ level. Not only was my patient's drip broken but his IV was improperly inserted!" She couldn't tolerate it anymore. To hell with being professional if no one else is willing to abide by the same code. "She was _dying_-" She motioned to the patient's room behind her.

"-and there was no one else around! _No one_. Even they didn't arrive-" she motioned to the nurses who were tip toeing past them. "-until after I called the code. Do you expect me to ignore someone is dying because I-"

"I expect you, Dr. Griffin, to do your job," he growled. She didn't break eye contact as she took a step froward.

"That's exactly what I did," she spat back, her voice steady and serious.

He paused to consider her words and exhaled a frustrated breath.

"You're here to treat your patient and your patient only," he said. "Remember that," he warned. He finally looked away, nodded at the guarding officer, and turned on his heel.

Clarke knew she looked stable on the outside because she never let her guard down, but on the inside she was beginning to question if she was the right doctor for this. She started walking in the opposite direction down the hall to find the medical closet. She has buried a mile long list of emotions today alone, but as she walks down the hall she's unable to shake the doubt that's rising in her mind.


End file.
